


we never go out of style

by onceinabluemoon13



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: Everybody Ships It, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Roommates, School Reunion, but our couple is too dumb to figure it out, the answer is as many as i can, this should really just be titled 'how many cliches can i fit into one story'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceinabluemoon13/pseuds/onceinabluemoon13
Summary: The invitations arrive on a cold, dreary Tuesday in mid-March."Adler High Class of 2008... Ten Year Reunion"It’s funny how our lives never quite work out how we expect.OR Peter Kavinsky persuades Lara Jean Song-Covey to attend their ten year reunion as a "couple." What could possibly go wrong?





	we never go out of style

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome my new story! I fell in love with this couple (I've seen the movie like 10 times and bought the books immediately after watching it the first time), so I decided to try my hand at writing them. This is my first time writing them and in first person, so please forgive me for any glaring errors! I have this story pretty much plotted out, so hopefully it won't be too long between updates. I am trying to finish my master's degree this semester, though, so please be patient!
> 
> Title comes from the Taylor Swift song.

The invitations arrive on a cold, dreary Tuesday in mid-March.

I’m just getting home after a twelve-hour shift at the bakery. I love my job, but waking up at 4am every morning did take some getting used to when I first started working there.

There are three in total, one for each of my roommates and me. Our names are printed in a gold, elegant font on the front of each envelope, our address neatly typed below.

I briefly wonder if whoever addressed them realized they were all going to the same place. All other thoughts abandon me, however, as I tear mine open and see the words written on the shiny white cardstock.

_Adler High Class of 2008_

_Ten Year Reunion_

Has it really been ten years? Senior year feels like just yesterday and a million years ago, all at once.

XXXXX

Just before graduation, Mrs. Duvall, my guidance counselor, asks me to envision my life ten years down the road. What does it look like?

I have my answer ready-made: After graduating with a degree in creative writing, I will move to New York City with my kind, successful boyfriend. We will live in a brownstone in the West Village, and I’ll be a romance novelist, just like I’ve always dreamed.

(I don’t mention the boyfriend part to her, content to leave that little tidbit for myself. And, hey, if my imaginary boyfriend happens to resemble Zac Efron, well, who can blame 17-year-old Lara Jean, really? It _is_ a fantasy, after all.)

XXXXX

It’s funny how our lives never quite work out how we expect.

I do reside in NYC, but I’m not a writer, and I don’t have a perfect boyfriend. Lara Jean Song-Covey at 27 is just as perpetually single as Lara Jean Song-Covey at 17. As it turns out, writing a compelling romance is rather difficult when you have little to no romantic experience of your own.

XXXXX

I have been in love five times in my life.

Or at least I think I have. How does a person really know when they love someone? There’s no checklist you can look at to definitively say, “Yes, I am in love.” You just have to wing it and hope for the best.

My best efforts have been… unsuccessful, to say the least.

The first boy who ever grabs my attention is Kenny from camp. I spend many a summer night dreaming about his crooked smile and dimples. Summer only lasts so long, however, and my feelings for him drift away not long after camp ends.

I write him a letter, and that is that.

In seventh grade, I fall fast and hard for Peter Kavinsky. He’s the most popular boy in school. He has the loveliest eyes; I could spend hours lost in their depths. An innocent game of spin the bottle leads to my very first kiss, courtesy of Peter. I am infatuated with him for almost two years, until he starts dating Genevieve, the prettiest girl in our class and my ex-best friend. Knowing I could never compete with Gen for Peter’s affections, I vow to get over him.

His letter is a little less flattering, and a lot more poignant than Kenny’s.

I cry myself to sleep for weeks until John Ambrose McClaren comes barreling into my life. After Peter Kavinsky, he is a breath of fresh air. For the first time in my young life, I like someone who likes me back. John Ambrose is everything a girl wants in her first boyfriend: sweet, funny, intelligent. Cute in that non-threatening, youthful way so common amongst middle-school boys. We share one blissful month together before his family moves away, and we never see each other again. To say I am devastated would be the understatement of the century.

John’s letter is more introspective and questioning than the others. How different would my life be if we hadn’t been parted so early on in our relationship? Would we have stayed together throughout high school and beyond?

Freshman year is all about Lucas James. We share one dance together at homecoming, and I am instantly smitten. Two years later, our Chemistry teacher partners us together. I am glad I’d never given his letter to him when he reveals that he’s gay. Still, our friendship is forged in the aftermath of his confession.

We’ve shared an apartment for the past six years. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, even if he is abnormally obsessed with finding me a boyfriend.

The fifth and final time I fall in love is also the one that hurts the most. I have been friends with Josh Sanderson ever since his family moved in next door to mine when I was eleven. He is my best friend, and I don’t realize how deeply I love him until I find out he is in love with my sister. I try to move on (I would never hurt Margot by secretly mooning over her boyfriend), but it is difficult when he’s constantly over at our house. Margot breaks things off with him before my junior year of high school.

I pour all of my feelings into his letter, but things are never the same between Josh and me after that. I remind him too much of Margot, and he reminds me too much of the boy I used to love.

Now, the only communication I have with Josh is a short text every year on our birthdays, and the annual Christmas cards our families send each other.

Once I start college, I spend most of my time studying or working, and so my (non-existent) love life is once again put on the back burner. Even after graduation, I don’t notice anything missing from my life. I have my friends, my books, and my baking; what else could I need?

XXXXX

I am in the kitchen making tea when the front door opens. I hear a jangle as my roommate hangs his keys on the hook I insisted upon when I moved in. Too many years of frantically rushing around in search of mine have taught me well. The guys teased me about it mercilessly, but they both agreed to use it without too much of a hassle, so I consider it a win of sorts.

(They both confess one night, after imbibing a not-insignificant amount of tequila, that they love how much easier their lives have gotten since I moved in. I lord that over them for months.)

“There’s some mail for you on the coffee table!” I yell out, wincing as my hand brushes the kettle. I’m adding sugar to my tea, thumb in my mouth, as he comes into the kitchen. He’s gripping the invitation in his right hand.

“You get one of these, too, Covey?” he asks in that deep voice that makes me think of things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about a man with whom I share a living space. I take a deep breath to level my pulse and gaze up into the eyes of Peter Kavinsky.

(They’re still the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. I want to dive in and never come up for air.)

Okay, so maybe 17-year-old Lara Jean got _one_ more thing right when I imagined my life ten years down the road. I _am_ living with an insanely gorgeous, excessively considerate man.

Unfortunately, he’s still hung up on Gen, and I’m (re-) hung up on him.

XXXXX

You may be wondering how I came to live with the second of my five almost-loves. Well, the condensed version is that he is already living with Lucas when I move to NYC.

The longer version?

He and Gen break up during eleventh grade when she dumps him for some college guy. He spends the next two years single, running back to Gen whenever she calls.

(I never understood their relationship – it always seemed so unequal – but I always thought he deserved better than the way Gen treated him, like he was her property to do with as she pleased.)

Peter breaks it off for good right before we all leave for college.

He attends UVA on a lacrosse scholarship and is accepted to Columbia Law School. Gen marries the guy she dumped Peter for. Since Lucas is the only person he knows in the city, it makes sense for them to get an apartment together. When I move up a few months later, they happily agree to let me take the third bedroom and split rent three ways instead of two.

Peter Kavinsky, as it so happens, is a fantastic roommate. He always remembers to put the toilet seat down, he does his share of the chores without complaint, and he never fails to back me up when Lucas tries to convince me to go out on a date. Sure, he gets a little too intense when watching sports, and he walks around without a shirt on _way_ too much (does that _really_ count as a flaw?), but no one is perfect.

Even if his smile does make my heart skip a beat every time he turns it on me.

We have vastly different tastes in movies, so a few years back we started having Friday movie nights, and we rotate who picks the film each week. I’ll never admit it, but movie nights with Peter are the highlight of my week.

(Lucas gives me a knowing look every time he sees us huddled together on the couch.)

XXXXX

“Lara Jean?” His voice pulls me out of my reverie, and I can feel myself blush at the direction my thoughts have taken.

“What?” I say, removing my thumb from my mouth as quietly as I can manage. (It’s not very quiet.) I try to act nonchalant, but I don’t think it works if the look on his face is any indication. It’s this strange combination of fondness and exasperation that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

“Did you get one, too?” he asks, shaking the invitation in my direction.

I nod, pointing at my own envelope on the counter beside me.

“Fuck.” I glare at him pointedly, and he has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

Peter is silent for a moment, staring at the paper in his hand. After living with him for six years, I can normally read him pretty easily. Right now, however, I have no idea what he’s thinking.

“Peter?”

He glances at me suddenly, and his face lights up. There’s a strange glint in his eyes when they meet mine across the counter.

“What is it?” I say warily. Usually when he gets that expression, he’s about to persuade me to do something crazy and completely out of my comfort zone.

“Will you be my fake girlfriend?”

Wait, _what_?

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! Feel free to come talk with me on [Tumblr](http://onceinabluemoon13.tumblr.com/)!


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